


Making A Mess

by Arrestzelle



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, M/M, Sehnsucht Era, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23974189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: Paul and Flake blow each other.
Relationships: Paul Landers/Christian Lorenz
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Making A Mess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fouroux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fouroux/gifts).



> This was inspired by convo with Inchy. I was originally not going to even publish this, but decided who cares anymore whether it's really nasty or not; someone might appreciate my very indulgent smut writings lol. 
> 
> This is [Sehnsucht](https://66.media.tumblr.com/b09f94fdab20b30eab8dda2ab0785cbd/372a50591565ce96-e0/s500x750/55e3f081a2302b28600a9f5e54f2dece60b0daab.jpg) [era](https://66.media.tumblr.com/e8b9eed0bc0e00c439cd0214868b4059/372a50591565ce96-42/s400x600/5bb37aaf0a16825857ca5a3d8bf5128edfc2cd15.jpg), when they both had [longer](https://66.media.tumblr.com/3b0e859267b00106a351ccde2ad9b44f/372a50591565ce96-2f/s250x400/2ab41285ddb03f16d9090a8e257ae17ead9bd921.gifv) [hair](https://66.media.tumblr.com/dfe3b56cbe1d2df62e7b11cd0c8428fc/372a50591565ce96-f5/s1280x1920/cfa5163f597136bbd2a8c6a4f390268301a9b630.png).

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not going to hurt me, Flake. We’ve done this before, or did you forget?”

“Of course I didn’t forget.”

“Because it was fun, wasn’t it? And I didn’t get hurt. So, come on…”

A concerned expression is on Flake’s face. Paul brushes his dark bangs out of his eyes with rakes of his fingers, his black nail polish a stark contrast. Flake is standing in the bedroom of his Berlin home. Paul is not. He kneels in front of Flake, shirtless now, wearing only his black sweatpants. Flake lacks any clothing due to his boyfriend’s insistence, and normally he’d complain about the chill but the heat from Paul blowing him only a moment before keeps him warm. Paul reaches up to almost lovingly cup his fingers in a V around the base of Flake’s dick, wet and flushed. He looks up at Flake with stern eyes.

“If I choke, just ignore it. I’ll pull off if it really gets bad.”

Flake bites his lip. He nods. Paul leans in, his long hair falling to curtain his temple once more. He sucks Flake’s cock into his mouth. Flake’s stomach rolls with heat. Paul’s cheeks are hollowed, eyes closed. He’s sucking harshly, noisy in the silence of the bedroom. Flake groans, shifting on his feet, and brings both hands up to run them through Paul’s soft hair, gripping the back of his head. Paul always looks good like this: a cock in his mouth, cute lips wrapped tightly around him, his cheeks sucked in and brow slightly knit in concentration.

Another hand finds his lean thigh and pulls, just slightly. A reminder. Flake adjusts his footing and tightens his hands around Paul’s head. He begins rocking his hips. He watches, chin tucked and bottom lip between his teeth, as he pumps his cock into Paul’s sucking mouth. Paul hums around him. Flake releases a harsh breath, blown away by how amazing it feels—Paul is sucking so hard, relentlessly. His hands curl around Flake’s thighs, roaming flatly across the warm skin, up and up, until he finds his ass and squeezes. And then Paul begins arching his head forward, letting Flake’s lengthy cock slide into his throat. His eyes pinch shut and his mouth opens wider, cheeks a dark red. He coughs. Flake groans. He continues slightly thrusting his hips—the wet sound of his dick repeatedly thrusting into his throat, a back and forth motion, is outrageously loud and vulgar. Paul coughs hard around his cock. He digs his nails into Flake’s ass.

Paul’s long bangs are in his face now, tickling against Flake’s heaving belly. Flake’s expression melts from sensation, dazed and aroused. He watches his slick cock thrust in and out of Paul’s open mouth, drool dripping from his chin, his face reddening and eyes squeezed shut. Paul takes over momentarily; he grabs tightly at Flake’s thighs, holding him still, and lets the entirety of his cock bury into his throat, his face pressed to his stomach, mouth open around the base of his shaft to avoid contact with his teeth. He gurgles around him. His throat flexes around his dick. Flake moans, open and unfiltered. And then Paul gags, hard—his back curls, his throat convulsing around Flake’s cock. He pulls off immediately, panting, looking up at Flake with watery eyes and wet lips—Flake slides his hands from his hair. Paul wipes off his face with his hands, sucking in air.

“Shit,” he mumbles, licking his lips, and then reaches up to close his hand around Flake’s slick, dripping cock. He begins stroking at him, watching his foreskin close repeatedly around the head. Flake releases a shaky exhale. After recovering his breath, Paul leans back in to suck it back into his mouth. Flake brings his hands up to curl them around the back of his head. Paul shifts closer on his knees. Flake waits, huffing harshly himself, unbelievably aroused. His insides are swimming with a heat—more so than usual. This turns him on as much as it does for Paul.

Paul takes his cock in deep, opening his mouth wide, letting his throat relax and accept his shaft. Flake grunts, watching as Paul gradually worked the entirety of his dick into his mouth. Once he’s seated inside his throat, Flake begins thrusting again. Through calm, short rocks of his hips, Flake essentially fucks Paul’s throat with quick thrusts, working his dick back and forth deep in his mouth. The wet, pornographic sound of him doing so fills the room, joined by Paul’s coughing and choking. His slim hands are curling lightly around Flake’s thighs, fingers splayed across pale skin.

The strained expression on Paul’s boyish face—his clenched eyes, his grimacing mouth, his stark red cheeks, his tightly knit brow—is arousing in its nature of dishevelment. His longer hair is wild around his forehead, once unraveled by Flake’s fingers. Flake can’t stop watching, hypnotized as he thrusts into his open mouth again and again, working his cock back and forth into the hot, wet grip of his flexing throat. Paul is coughing hard now, spit dripping thickly from his bottom lip and his chin. His throat clenches continuously, uselessly around his cock. Flake moans raggedly, his flat chest blotchy and heaving, big hands wrapped firmly around Paul’s head. Flake gets ahead of himself; he buries his cock deeper into the clenching cavern of Paul’s throat, desperately working around his dick, attempting to force it _out_ from its unnatural intrusion. Blindly seeking more of that feeling, Flake forgets that Paul’s body is not meant to do such a thing. Paul gags wetly, heaving with a retching sound that slaps Flake from his daze. He pulls out immediately, mindful of Paul’s teeth as he does.

“Shit, I’m s-sorry,” Flake stammers, stroking his fingers through Paul’s soft, unkempt hair as the other man coughed harshly into his hand. Paul regathers himself, shaking his head with a wave of that hand.

“It’s okay,” he laughs, his voice strained and watery. He looks up at Flake with a grin, but tears are simmering on his lower lids.

“You just took me by surprise,” he reassures Flake, reaching out to stroke his hands up and down over his lean thighs. Paul clears his throat, swallows hard, and brings a hand back to wipe his eyes off with his wrist. Flake stares, shocked by how oddly sexy Paul is when he’s crying and red-faced. And beyond that, he’s completely hard in his sweatpants, as indicated by an impressive tent his erection is pitching.

Taking in a deep breath, Paul trains his gaze on Flake’s stiff cock, shiny with spit and flushed with stimulation, and reaches out to grip the base with a tight circle of his fingers; his black nail polish clashes with the fair tone of Flake’s skin. Then he leans back in. Flake’s mouth falls open, an exhale bursting from him as he watches Paul wrap his lips around the head of his cock, pulling back his foreskin to nurse at the tip. Flake grunts and reflexively brings his hands back up to run them through his hair, gripping it gently in his fists. Paul is relentless, and evidently fearless. He slowly works the full length of his cock into his mouth and his throat, letting it slide along the length of his tongue and further back, until his nose is against his clenched belly and his eyes squeeze shut once more in focus. Flake groans aloud, thighs tensed and quivering.

“I’m close,” Flake grits out, voice roughened by his arousal. Paul hums around his cock—though it was more of a gurgle than anything, which in turn has Flake cracking a grin, amused. Paul squeezes the back of Flake’s thighs in his hands. Then he begins turning his head side to side slightly, incrementally working his cock ever deeper into his throat. His face ends up smashed into Flake’s flat, heaving belly.

Flake moans harshly, breathing raggedly now. He tightens his grip in Paul’s hair and begins working his hips again, giving short, albeit indulgent, thrusts that has him wetly fucking Paul’s mouth. Paul coughs and chokes around him. He pulls back, just enough to expose his strained, reddened face. But Flake’s shaft remains wedged deeply in his throat, well beyond his level of comfort. He cracks his eyes open and peeks up at Flake with an almost _needy_ look in them.

“Oh, God, Paul,” Flake breathes, his entire body flaming now, a fire roaring uncontrollably in his gut. Electric pleasure jolts throughout him with every little thrust into Paul’s open throat, ping-ponging from the tips of his fingers to his toes, clenched into the carpet of the bedroom. It’s coming. _He’s_ coming.

“Oh, God,” Flake harshly gasps in a heaved exhale, his eyes squeezing shut, “Paul, I’m—!”

He loses sense of coordination. He loses sense of control. He cannot help himself. As devastating euphoria completely overwhelms him, swallowing him whole and digesting his mind, he begins fucking hard into Paul’s delicious mouth, gripping the back of his head to keep him still as he drives into his throat. The wet, vulgar sound of him doing so fills the room, accompanied by Paul’s choking and spitting, and Flake’s gasping. He pumps greedily into his convulsing throat, albeit with short, shaky thrusts—still somehow mindful of Paul even in the crashing tide of his orgasm. He only ebbs back into himself when Paul begins to _suck._ It’s like prodding his nerves with a red hot fire poker. He cracks his eyes open to see Paul with closed eyes and sucked in cheeks, nursing at him with half of his dick still in his mouth.

“Paul,” Flake moans deliriously, shakily raking his fingers through Paul’s hair. He realizes he just came down Paul’s throat—and even that wasn’t enough for him, evidently. With his hands resting lightly over Flake’s slim thighs, Paul continues sucking, working and working at him, until Flake has to pull out with a grunt, for it is far too sensitive now. He shudders hard, panting, and slips his hands from his boyfriend’s dark hair. Paul looks up at him with a slight smile. And then he shifts closer on his knees, close enough to nuzzle his face into Flake’s spit-soaked dick. Flake sucks in a sharp breath, his belly clenching. He stares, wide-eyed. Paul lowers his hands from Flake’s thighs, to wiggle his sweatpants down far enough—he grabs his cock and pulls it out.

“I’m dripping so much,” Paul murmurs against Flake’s flushed dick, angling his head to whisper his lips along the underside, “Fuck, I’m so wet, Flake. I—Nn... Fuck.”

During this mindless babble, Paul began to pump his hand, pulling at his neglected cock with a tight fist and a wetness derived only from himself. Flake stands there, speechless, staring at his softening cock against Paul’s flushed face, watching him nuzzle into it like he doesn’t want it to go away just yet. And then further down to admire the visual of his slim hand stroking at his shockingly wet cock. He wasn’t exaggerating—pre-cum is flying from the head of his dick with every quick pump of his hand, dripping onto his sweatpants. Flake’s mouth becomes very dry.

“Let me—Let me,” he manages to sputter, an attempt to regain his ability of speech. Paul peeks up at him, Flake’s shaft resting against his cheek. He pulls back just enough to lick at the head, dipping his tongue into the opening of his foreskin to tease at the slit of his cock. Flake’s hips reflexively lurch back. He hisses and looks at the other man with a flustered expression on his face, extending a hand to press it to the top of his head. Simply stopping him, because he knows Paul would just keep following him if there was nothing holding him back. Flake speaks in an overwhelmed stammer, eyes wide from behind his circular glasses.

“Let me talk! I-I can’t think when you do that, Paul!”

Paul laughs. He looks up at him with an amused twinkle in his eyes, a grin on his face. Meanwhile, he stopped touching himself, merely letting his dick rest in the curl of his fingers.

“What is it?” he asks, a bit breathlessly. He begins to tease the head of his own cock with his fingertips, almost casually. Flake has to really focus on what to say. He could honestly watch Paul forever. He’s hypnotizing.

“Use my mouth… If you want?” Flake says, voice meek. Eyes widening with pleasant surprise, Paul eagerly nods. He moves to stand, gripping his cock in his hand. Yet, suddenly, he seems to have taken a liking to Flake’s chest on the way up, because he leans in to drag the width of his tongue from the base of Flake’s rib cage, all the way up across his sternum between those flat pecs—licking up sweat and the salt of his skin. Flake looks at him, wide-eyed, his hands raising to squeeze at Paul’s sides almost reflexively. Paul licks his lips and smiles.

“You taste good,” he muses cheekily, and then abruptly arches up onto his toes to press a quick kiss to Flake’s lips. Flake blushes. He says nothing. Paul searches in his flustered boyfriend’s eyes and cocks a brow. Flake sees him waggle his dick a bit; a reminder. Flake snorts a laugh—right, he forgot. He was a bit distracted. Paul grins, watching as Flake promptly moves to kneel. Albeit a bit inelegantly, Flake manages to rest back on his calves, seated before the other man with a shyly curled back and bashful eyes trained pointedly on the dick in his face. It’s hard for him to meet Paul’s eyes in situations like this.

A hand boldly reaches out to pet at his shaggy, dark hair. Flake releases a deep breath, relaxing minutely under that touch. Paul’s slim fingers rake repeatedly through his locks. In hindsight, Flake is glad he had the wisdom to wash his hair this morning. He leans in and mouths experimentally at the head of Paul’s dick, exposed considering the man himself is pulling his foreskin back with a firm wrap of his fingers around the base of his shaft.

He’s so salty here, it almost has Flake grimacing. He’s covered in pre-cum, and it clings to his lips wetly. A deep hum rolls from Paul’s throat. Evidently, he’s quite sensitive and aroused, eager to move on considering he’s now cupping that hand around the back of Flake’s head, holding him, and circling the dripping head in the slight opening of Flake’s lips. Flake lets him. He looks up at him with cool eyes and a slightly furrowed brow. Paul’s face is open and lustful, his eyes hooded and almost hazy, his mouth fallen open slightly. Flake thinks it’s quite cute. He stares, admiring.

Refocusing, Flake brings his hands up to run the width of them along Paul’s lean thighs, enjoying the feeling of his soft skin, the warm kiss of his body heat, the drifting touch of his body hair. Brow furrowed slightly in concentration, Flake sucks the head into his mouth, finally. Wrapping his lips tightly around him, sucking harsh enough it has his cheeks hollowing. Paul groans unashamedly, openly, vocally. Flake feels a burst of heat in his belly at the sound, despite his recent orgasm. He tastes another spurt of pre-cum on his tongue, _feels_ Paul’s shaft flex, the blood roaring under flushed skin.

Face hot and ears burning from embarrassment he hasn’t yet shaken off, Flake takes more into his mouth, opening wide enough to accommodate a little over half—at least, until the head hits the wrong place, and he’s coughing harshly around him. Paul huffs a breathless grunt and then murmurs, “It’s fine. Just suck on the head, baby.”

Jesus. Flake’s face is absolutely burning, hearing such a filthy thing. Normally he’d complain about Paul saying something like that to him, but he’s so flustered, he just remains silent. He pulls off, breathing a little hard, and peeks up at him past his messy hair. Paul looks so disheveled and aroused, his face lax with lust. He readjusts his hand behind Flake’s head, pulling him in gently. Flake licks his lips, fixing his gaze on the cock in his face once more. Paul’s manicured fingers gripping the base, holding it in place, is somehow so erotic in itself. A silent plea. Flake obliges; he takes the head into his mouth again, grunting quietly at the sharp taste of his pre-cum, and begins sucking in firm pulls. Paul harshly exhales, a sound choked-off in his throat.

And then Paul’s hand begins to move over his slick shaft. Flake watches, wide-eyed from behind his oval glasses. Those lovely, slim fingers gripping around the girth of his cock, working at himself. Flake grabs tightly at Paul’s thighs, fingertips digging in, and finds himself extremely shy and overwhelmed, albeit eager to please. He focuses on sucking tightly at the head, even if the motion of Paul jerking himself off jostles it slightly in his mouth. He tries keeping it in place with his lips and tongue. Paul is huffing and grunting under his breath. Flake feels him shift closer, incrementally so, hand tightening around the back of his head. His thighs flex rigidly under his hands. Those black manicured fingers are shaking, moving continuously, determinedly, almost desperately.

“Can I come in your mouth?” Paul gasps harshly, abruptly, his voice punched from his lungs. Flake grunts in surprise around his dick, and nearly pulls off to answer, but decides against it—if only to maintain this moment of ecstasy for the other man. He’s so aroused himself, the typical repulsion he has towards getting a mouthful of cum is noticeably lacking. He responds by sucking harder, taking more of his cock into his mouth, far enough that those fingers bump into his lips. Paul grunts and steps slightly closer once more, just to inch his cock further into Flake’s sucking mouth. Flake is on the brink of gagging. He squeezes his eyes shut, struggling to maintain composure.

“I’m—I’m going to come—in your mouth,” Paul growls, his words broken and shaking, hand gripping a tight fistful of Flake’s hair. It hurts, but the overwhelming feeling of possession and a lack of control washes over Flake with another douse of arousal. He roams his big, outstretched hands along Paul’s shaking thighs, to grip firmly at his ass. Paul’s harsh breathing begins hitching, sporadic and shaky—and then Flake feels his cock strain in his mouth, hardening against his tongue.

The forceful shot of his cum coats the roof of Flake’s mouth and drowns his tongue—he reflexively flinches. Paul is groaning and clutching at Flake’s hair, giving the slightest thrust of his hips, minutely fucking Flake’s mouth, prolonging and intensifying his orgasm. Flake bears it as Paul continues pumping into his mouth, his brow furrowed deeply, eyes screwed shut. Only when the head bumps a bit too far back does Flake raise a white flag.

Twisting away with a noise of disgust in his throat, Flake then collapses back onto his calves. He promptly coughs up the unpleasant film of semen that clung to the corners of his mouth and at the cusp of his throat—right into his open palm. Then he looks up at Paul with a red face, an open mouth, and disbelieving, shimmering eyes. Paul is still cupping his cock in his hand, watching him with surprise on his face. Flake feels particularly stupid in that moment, with cum dripping from his bottom lip into his hand, his palm and fingers now completely covered in his saliva and Paul’s oh-so-generous amount of jizz.

Evidently amused by this, Paul cracks a slight smile. Flake wants to reach out and slap his cum-hand onto the other man’s stomach.

Instead, they end up in the bathroom. After Flake had stumbled into a pair of boxers, he immediately fled to clean up.

“Don’t be stupid!” Flake says soon after washing his hands. Paul isn’t listening. He forcefully directs Flake towards the closed toilet lid, having him take a seat—his protests predictably ignored. Paul wets a hand towel with warm water, turns to his sitting boyfriend (who is _still_ almost as tall as him despite sitting down), and cups his jaw with one hand, raising the cloth to his face. He begins wiping up the mess from his chin and mouth area, while Flake glares at him with his eyes.

“This is so stupid and unnecessary,” Flake manages to mumble out beyond the hand towel that is currently rubbing along his lips. Paul shushes him, and then finishes up by wiping away the spit that had found its way onto Flake’s cheek.

“You don’t have to indulge me just because we’re in the moment—earlier, I mean,” Paul begins quietly, tossing the hand towel into the sink. He turns back to Flake, continuing to hold his jaw. He steps closer, nudging his way in-between Flake’s knees, standing over him now. Flake huffs. He looks at him shyly.

“I know. Don’t make me regret it.”

“So you don’t already?” Paul asks, eyebrows raised. He brings his other hand up to cup Flake’s cheeks. Flake blushes, searching in Paul’s ambiguous eyes. He shakes his head. Paul smiles faintly. Flake studies his face, watching him. Paul begins running his fingers through Flake’s longer, dark hair. Raking those soft locks back over his head with sweeps of his fingers. Then he traces the shells of his ears with his fingertips. A shudder runs up Flake’s back.

“Just saying,” Paul begins softly, leaning over to gently rest his forehead against Flake’s, “It was really hot. I only wish I could have seen your eyes as I came in your mouth. Because _you’re_ really hot. So cute, when you’re shy… Especially when—”

Flake lifts a hand to smother it flatly over Paul’s mouth, looking at him with a slight grimace on his face. Paul smiles at him with his eyes. He smooches his fingers. Flake huffs.

“Use your actions instead of your words this time, Paul. Don’t embarrass m-me like that.”

Paul nods into Flake’s encompassing hand. Flake slides it away. As soon as he does, Paul cups Flake’s face with both hands, black fingernails lost in his longer hair. Leaning in, he angles his head to kiss him. Flake closes his eyes. Paul’s lips are commanding against his, but gentle. Passionate, but controlled. He eats him alive, but he savors him. He devours him, but he digests him. Their lips crush together, slow and deep, until Flake is unable to breathe and his mouth begins to tingle from overstimulation. He’s panting now, rushed and heavy in-between the overlapping push and pull of their mouths. And then Paul breaks away. Before Flake can even begin to regather himself, Paul kisses him again. This time, over his nose. To his brow, along his forehead.

“I really like being with you,” Paul whispers a bit breathlessly into Flake’s dark hair, cupping his head in his hands, fingers resting under his ears, thumbs on his cheeks. “I don’t want to embarrass you, but I want you to know.”

It’s not often they exchange such serious, heartfelt words like this. It’s not often Flake _hears_ it, from Paul of all people. It’s something he’d expect himself to say. Paul has always been more collected than he, more level-headed, less compelled to express himself through genuine confession. Flake blushes. He’s glad Paul can’t see his face.

“Um, okay,” Flake huffs with a slight laugh, flustered. Paul pulls back to look at him with a warm smile. He strokes his thumbs over his hot cheeks and boldly asks, “Do you like being with me?”

Flake is unable to meet his gaze. He drops his stare to Paul’s bare chest. He nods a little, into Paul’s hands. Paul hums happily and steps closer in the space between his knees, close enough that Flake can lean forward and rest his forehead against Paul’s chest. Paul keeps one hand threaded intimately in his hair, the other extending to roam along the curve of Flake’s endless back.

It feels nice.

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


End file.
